Master of the Twilight
by Elaine of Shallot
Summary: A look at the life of the dark elf Eöl and his obsessive love for Aredhel the white, parents of the elf who brought about the fall of Gondolin, A Silmarillion-based fic, rated highly for dark themes and may be raised again later.
1. A/N

Unnecessary and boring author notes:  
  
Number one of course is that everything belongs to Tolkien, I own nothing but I have about 20 bucks if he wants to barter for Aragorn and the twins.  
  
This fic was inspired by Alena's poetic, In the Fire of the Sun it's a beautiful piece about Eöl, that got me thinking about his back story, or lack there of. All decent fanfic readers, please find her story and review.  
  
Finally, I wrote this fairly quickly with very little consultation of HoME or The Silmarillion, if you catch any mistakes please let me know either in a review or e-mail me at ElaineofShallot376@hotmail.com.  
  
Anyone who reviews will get a cookie ^_~ even if it is just a flame. 


	2. The beginning

Eöl found himself alone again, but he did not enjoy the company of others. He was only happy in the forests. Beneath the sheltering boughs of his trees, that obscured the light of even the brightest of stars, he felt safe. And dwelling in the perpetual shadows he felt like a god, ruling over all the twilight. The solitude suited him. When he was alone he could feel his thoughts winding and creeping through the dark corners of his mind forgoing any logical route and stoking the white hot flame of his creativity.  
On rare occasions he would seek the companionship of the Naugrim, lingering in their vast and lonely halls as he bartered his finely crafted goods for theirs or discussed advancements they had made in forging techniques. But invariably, as he delighted in the sharing of information with such knowledgeable dwarves, the panic would begin again, rising in his throat. His heart would crash against his ribs as a frenzied bird desperate to be free of its cage and it would appear to him that the dwarves all regarded him from identical, ancient yet ageless, grey eyes. During these moments of attack he always believed himself back in Doriath. Sometimes he could harness the terror that raged through him, and would remain at Nogrod or Belegost for several more days. Sometimes he would allow the panic to crash over him and would flee in the night, back to his twilight and sanctuary. The Naugrim never questioned his behavior, they took it for the idiosyncrasies of the elves, and while Eöl was more sensible than most of his kind, he was still bound to a certain degree of odd behavior that came with his race.  
Eöl for his part never offered an explanation, preferring to let them draw their own conclusions than delve into parts of his mind that he had shuttered long ago. Occasionally a memory would slip through the chinks spurring on an attack, and he would find his thoughts inundated with eerie light and spectral laughter.  
All the memories of Doriath that he allowed to surface were impressions of light and color, the laughter of many, accented by strains of jubilant music. The full memories he would not permit to the forefront of his consciousness, were memories of what it was like to love and be loved in return, to revel in the smiles of kindred and the furtive glances of pretty maids, knowing that he himself had been beautiful.  
  
  
  
Young Eöl was beautiful, although he looked nothing like his kin nor the generally appreciated standards. It was the differences in his appearance that drew others to him. His hair was blacker than that of any elf he knew. In bright lighting it was as matte as a crow's wing, but in the dim light of a low burning fire it shimmered and glossed from every angle. His mother had once said in the firelight one could see the workings of his mind reflected in his hair, as his thoughts churned unceasingly. But by far his most appealing feature was his eyes. They were as dark as his hair and always shining as if he were merry with the thought of a private joke. They were not the dark empty tunnels that they would become later, in his youth they were rich velvety pools of night, and set against his pale, fair skin and aquiline nose, they glowed.  
When he was still very young, he dwelled with his parents in relative peace. He had no siblings to contend with and learned the pleasure of his own company. He would while away the hours devising traps for the wild animals or carefully carving and shaping icons of his favorite legendary heroes. He knew all the tales by heart, but every night he pleaded with his father to recite them again. Once his father had relented, as he always did, he would listen spell-bound as the baritone voice wove its magic over Eöl. He could picture them all clearly in his head, fell kings and achingly beautiful queens standing against an endless sea of darkness where every shadow held unnamed terrors. During the tale his mother would sit by the fire and Eöl knew the expression on her face without looking. The corners of her mouth would be turned down and set in a grim expression of disapproval. More than once he had heard her tell his father that such wild and dark tales were not for children, especially their Eöl who already held an inclination towards and fascination with the macabre.  
His father would listen quietly every time, but the next night the tales would begin again, and seemingly more graphic to spite his mother. His father ardently believed in the inferiority of females, he would never even dare to openly speak against his wife but during the course of everyday life Eöl could sense the generalized lack of respect for her.  
Eöl's mother in her turn bore this burden of general insensitivity and never faltered in her love for man or son. Eöl's mind never grasped the subtlety of her quiet determination, he was consumed by awe for his father, who's charisma and robust nature outshone his mother's quiet complacency.  
And a new shadow darkened her heart as she saw her son following in the path of her husband, and saw the grasp she had on her only child was slipping away. She determined to save him she must send him away from their quiet little house. He needed to learn of things outside the dark forests and outside of himself.   
She wrote a pleading letter to their kin, King Elu Thingol, begging him to take in Eöl so he could make a place for himself within the kingdom. In the deeper recesses of her mind she prayed that the wisdom of Queen Melian would guide him from the faults he now seemed destined to take 


	3. Meeting in Eglador

Eöl pulled himself up to his full height, locking his back ramrod straight and keeping his eyes fixated on the stone wall before him. If his father had taught him anything it was that he was equal to any elf, even these cultured and high-ranking elves that now sized him up. Despite the fact that his thoughts were set so defiantly he couldn't help feeling the tickle in his stomach and slight quivering of his hands. Only the Queen smiled at him, but it did not reach her eyes, she regarded him with same detachment as the elves. But something in her eyes entranced him, the knowledge and power that shone so brightly from the clear grey depths, he could still see them as he stared at the mottled stone in front of him. It had been difficult to look away.  
  
At length Elu Thingol uttered a noncommittal sound. "You're not very big for your age, child. How old are you?"  
  
"I have just turned thirty, as for my height, I do not socialize with other children so I would not know their height." Eöl could hear several of the courtesans shift uncomfortably and grunt in disapproval. Thingol's eyes darkened slightly as if a wispy cloud had passed over the moon, Melian's expression didn't alter. Eöl knew his answer had been impertinent but he didn't care. It served them right for taking him away from his solitude and his forests and his father. He despised the way they stared at him as if he were a quaint, backward and rustic child.  
  
"In what craft are you apprenticing?" Melian inquired, her voice reaching his ears like the tones of a thousand silver bells, some high and lilting, others deep and rich all combined in one concordant strain of music. Eöl blinked and concentrated on the words she had spoken, shaking the echoes of her voice from his head.  
  
"I have not yet begun to apprentice under any craft, but I would like one day to learn forging, particularly crafting weaponry." Any smart answer he had prepared was forgotten under her intense gaze.  
  
"Well, well," replied Thingol gazing at Eöl with an amused smile on his face, "The forging of weaponry is a very difficult art to learn, but it is highly prized in this kingdom. Perhaps we should allow you to assist our master craftsman and decide if that is what you truly desire."  
  
"I have no need of further decision making, sir." Eöl proclaimed, "My heart and mind are firmly set, and I need no more time to consider." Melian artfully arched one perfect brow and Thingol looked absolutely taken aback.  
  
"Such a strong will is not advisable in one so young as yourself, there is much you do not know of this world young Eöl, take time to learn it without your pride." This time Eöl took no pleasure in the sound of the Queen's voice, he heard only the words of his father "They know you not and do not wish to know you my son. You are a burden to them and they will never believe you have skill in anything. But you will prove them wrong my Eöl. You will show them that we do not bend under their demands." His father had warned him that they would look down on him as a peasant, one not fit to be in their royal company and Eöl saw that he had been right. He would make his father proud, if only to see the smugness erased from their faces.  
  
"Perhaps, your highness, you should instruct me to perform a task to ascertain my skill before you determine me lacking in it." Eöl sneered mockingly bowing before the two.  
  
"Now, now child," Elu Thingol replied soothingly, "No one believes you lacking in any aspect. If weapons craft is what you desire, you shall have your chance to try your hand at it. Tomorrow it will be arranged for you to meet with Angannon, he is the most skilled of all of my craftsmen in the field you seek. But, Eöl, if he finds your skill lacking I will beg you to reconsider the course you have chosen."  
  
Eöl nodded dumbly, his throat had gone dry and all the courage he had built up for his meeting with his kin was now lost. He suddenly felt very tired and very alone. He bowed before the two, too exhausted and confused to remember to thank Thingol. As her ran away he couldn't hear his feet frantically pounding against the worn stone flooring, their rhythmic beating was drowned out by his heart. He wanted his father, he wanted his mother, he desperately wished he was back in his forests, deep beneath the shade of the trees where the mockery of Thingol and his lackeys wouldn't reach his ears. He ran as quickly as he could as if he could wish himself running all the way back. Several elves in the hallway were pushed to the side as a sobbing streak of darkness propelled past them. The tears obscuring his vision slowly dissipated and he found himself before the wooden door a disinterested governess had instructed him would be his chambers early this morning. He pushed his way inside and threw himself on the bed amidst the luggage the servants had brought up in his absence. He hated Eglador, he hated his kin and he hated his life here. The stars that had once seemed to shine so brightly just for him now looked cold and distant. 


End file.
